


renaissance

by bonnieanonnie



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Allusions to Murder, Brief mentions of domestic abuse, Drabble, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonnieanonnie/pseuds/bonnieanonnie
Summary: It’s a slow process, arranging a crime scene.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan, Yoon Jeonghan/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	renaissance

**Author's Note:**

> this is something i wrote aaaages ago that i kept telling myself id go back and expand and improve on, but it's now been MONTHS and i cant figure out what i wanted this to be shdkjflg
> 
> so here it is ig???? it's very short and incoherent but hopefully it can bring some small bit of entertainment.......

1.

The blood smells sickly and metallic as he pours it out, the heavy stench making its way into his lungs despite his mask.

He goes through the motions of it quickly and efficiently, pours the blood the same way he’d practiced, flicks it onto the walls with precision that comes from months of studying images of crime scenes.

It has to look believable. He can’t afford any mistakes.

He does his best to not pay any mind to the body on the other side of the room, but he can feel his presence, hanging oppressive over his shoulders even now. He’d thought he’d be rid of him by now, had hoped the power he held over him would wane in time with the life leaving his eyes.

A crash echoes from outside and he jumps, almost spilling too much of the blood in one place. He takes a few deep breaths. He has to be more careful.

It’s a slow process; arranging a crime scene. Time-consuming and tedious. He’d planned it all out in minute detail, gone over it so many times in his head that he could recite it backwards and forwards.

First, he’d played a recording on his phone. Had let his voice echo around the dark apartment as he threw glasses across the room and turned furniture upside down. He’d almost lost himself in the feeling, in the catharsis spreading through him with each broken glass. The cuts from unforgiving shards felt like liberation, like taking the power back.

Then, he’d cleaned up the sick from when the choking and coughing had escalated to desperate gagging and drooling. Then made a careful effort to dirty the table and floor again, covering the bleach with drops of coffee and whatever else one might find in a kitchen as neglected as theirs.

After that, it was time to kill Yoon Jeonghan. He’d collected the blood over the course of several weeks, carefully emptied little drops of himself into a sealed plastic bag until he had enough to assure his own death. He spreads the blood across the living room, painting a carefully constructed picture of death and suffering for someone else to find. As he does it, he can’t help but find it ironic. The many times he’d scrubbed sweat, blood and cum from these floorboards to make sure no one would ever see the evidence of his suffering, and now he was splattering traces of himself everywhere to make sure no one would question his tragic fate.

Finally, when the clock has reached well past midnight, he starts on the heavy lifting. Halfway down the staircase, sweat on his brow and the knowledge that anyone could walk in at any moment hanging over his shoulders, he stares down at the awkwardly taped together plastic package at his feet and curses him for still causing him so much trouble, even in death.

2.

Driving feels strange after so long. His hands on the wheel, his feet on the pedals, glimpses of his face in the rearview mirror. It’s been years since he’s last been behind the wheel. He never liked him driving. He never explained why, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that driving meant agency, and agency could so easily evolve into escape. 

It was unsettling to think back on the time he’d spent in the clutches of that man. It felt like yesterday when he’d been sixteen and selfish. He’d been so convinced he was invincible and important, and the man ten years his senior, who bought him alcohol and cheap lingerie, was the only one who truly saw his worth.

His mother’s face from the last time he saw her flashes in his mind, the tears in her eyes as his father cursed him out and told him he was now orphaned before slamming the door in his face.

He catches his eyes in the rearview mirror, deep brown accented by sickly blue and purple. He doesn’t remember the last time his face had been unadorned by cuts, barely remembers what his hips looked like without the outline of angry hands on them. There’s a heavy lump in his stomach, quickly growing, and he’s reminded of the package tucked into the trunk of the car.

He clears his thoughts by blasting pop music that he never let him listen to. The top forty playlist is both celebration and rebellion. It marks his reclaiming of his body, his mind, his soul. For the first time in months, maybe years, Jeonghan sings. The sound is loud and croaky, and it doesn’t take long for it to evolve into sobs. 

3.

Before the sun rises, Jeonghan finds an unassuming and unpaved road to turn into. He drives until his gut tells him it’s enough, and then he parks the car and steels himself for what he’s about to do.

He’s got him halfway out of the car’s trunk, trying to make sure the body doesn’t make too much noise, while also avoiding getting in too close contact with it. There’s sweat dripping down his face and his arms and back have started to ache after spending the last ten minutes pulling and dragging. 

“You need help with that?”

With a gasp, Jeonghan jumps. He stumbles a few steps back, barely staying on his feet, fear taking hold of him at the thought of him waking up. He’d always been strong, the plastic bag and tape wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to get his hands on his attempted murderer. His heart is pounding in his chest, the sound so loud Jeonghan is sure it must be echoing in the forest.

Despite the rushing in his ears, Jeonghan picks up on the amused chuckle. He can’t speak, can’t move, can’t get his legs to start working so he can turn around and run.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” A man emerges from the dark

“Who are you?” Jeonghan is surprised how steady his voice is.

“Choi Seungcheol.” The man takes a few steps forward, hand stretched out as if offering a handshake. His hand is caked in a thick layer of dirt. Jeonghan backs away from him.

“What are you doing here?”

Seungcheol lowers his hand and raises the other to his mouth, taking a drag from a cigarette.

“Business,” he offers with a shrug. Without turning away from Jeonghan, he nods in the direction of the body now hanging halfway out of the trunk.”So, need a hand?”

Jeonghan takes a second to observe Choi Seungcheol. The dirt on his hands. His casual demeanor. The shovel placed against the side of Jeonghan’s car that wasn’t there before. He nods, once.

“Yeah.”

When they get back to the car, covered in sweat and dirt, Seungcheol wastes no time getting into the passenger seat. Jeonghan watches him warily for a couple of seconds before scrambling around to the other side and getting behind the wheel.

“Uhm--”

“Where are you headed?” Seungcheol asks, making himself comfortable on the worn leather seats.

Jeonghan stutters for a bit. Seungcheol throws him an easy grin. His heart beats a little faster.

“The city,” he finally manages.

“Sounds good.” Seungcheol slides further down on the seat, closing his eyes as if to sleep.

“Don’t you-” Jeonghan swallows. Seungcheol looks strange in the car lighting, as if he might fade away at any moment.”-have your own car?”

“Nope,” Seungcheol says, popping his p. He opens one eye to look at Jeonghan.”You don’t mind giving me a ride, do you, angel?”

Jeonghan stays quiet for a couple of seconds. Thinking.

“I don’t mind.”

“Great.” Seungcheol smiles again. Jeonghan’s stomach swoops.”Wake me up in a couple of hours, I’ll take over.”

Jeonghan nods.

“Okay.”

He starts the car.

4.

“We’re gonna have to get rid of the car,” Seungcheol says, breathing out a thick cloud of smoke.

“I like the car.” Jeonghan sighs, shoulders slumping against the hard backrest of the bench they’re sitting on. The car was the only thing he had left from before.

“They’re gonna be looking for it,” Seungcheol rationalises, eyes closed and head leaned back. Jeonghan admires his side profile. He follows the slope of his strong nose, the curve of his gentle lips, the line of his reliable jaw. His heart skips a beat.”It’s too easy to trace.”

It’s been two days since he met Seungcheol. Two days since he broke free. So far, there’s been nothing on the news and Jeonghan could hardly say he was surprised. He’d made sure the relationship of the flat’s occupants was clear, knowing full well the police wouldn’t want to waste their energy investigating a crime committed by one pervert on another.

“And then what?” Jeonghan starts tapping his feet against the asphalt, eyeing the beat up car fondly.”We start taking the bus?”

Seungcheol chuckles, low. Jeonghan’s stomach fills with butterflies at the sound.

”No.” He puts his cigarette out on the wood of the bench.”I know a guy.”

5.

Jeonghan doesn’t know what it is Seungcheol does. The callouses on his hands and the dirt on his face that first night tells him clearly what kind of business he’d been there for, and while it comforts him knowing they have dirtied their hands for the same reason, Jeonghan doesn’t have many other clues to who Seungcheol really is. He knows he’s older, but not by how much. He knows he’s from Daegu, but not if he still lives there. The man is a mystery, and Jeonghan wants nothing more than to crack him open, to figure him out.

They’ve known each other two weeks now, and at some point they’d started straying from the road to the city in favour of quaint villages and small towns where the people were kind and clueless. It feels like a road trip, and Jeonghan isn’t ashamed to admit he pretends Seungcheol is his boyfriend from time to time. 

They’d be a good fit, he’s convinced. They already know they can survive two weeks in each other’s constant company. They also have a shared interest in not associating with the authorities. More than anything, the fabric of Seungcheol’s very being seems to be boyfriend material. Jeonghan smiles to himself, playing with the sugar he’d emptied out onto the table, forming it into a heart. He thinks of Seungcheol’s hands on his skin the night after their first meeting, gently massaging ointment onto the bruised skin on his face.

 _Good on you_ , he’d murmured, and when Jeonghan had turned his head, confused, he’d booped his nose. _Standing up for yourself_.

He rests his chin in his hands and sighs just a tad dreamily at the memory. It was hard not to reverse back into his schoolboy self around someone like Seungcheol. He’d always been weak to the Prince Charming type and while Seungcheol had a few more rough edges than was usual, there was no disputing his big heart and valiant personality.

Forcing himself out of his pining, he directs his attention to the tv in the corner of the restaurant. There had yet to be anything about him on the news and it almost makes him feel indignant. Had no one noticed he was dead yet? A few days he could accept, but a fortnight was a blow to his ego.

Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen. He’d slipped away into the back of the restaurant a full half hour ago with some shady looking old man, ordering Jeonghan to stay put with a simple look. Jeonghan had considered going back out to the car, just to be contrary, but then the shady old man’s wife had emerged from the kitchen with a generous bowl of soup and that had been enough to keep him in his seat.

It’s another fifteen minutes until Seungcheol emerges from wherever he’d gone, and when he does he’s got a thick brown envelope in his hand.

He places the envelope on the table in front of Jeonghan as he sits down.

Jeonghan frowns, looking between Seungcheol and the envelope.

“Go on, open it.”

Jeonghan pushes his bowl to the side and grabs the brown package. It’s not sealed, so Jeonghan can easily open the flap and look inside. He frowns harder, reaching a hand in and pulling out a passport along with some other documents.

“Surprise.” Seungcheol tells him, a wide grin on his face. He looks proud of himself, like he’s accomplished something impossible.

“What--” Jeonghan starts flipping through the papers, still confused about what this means.”--is this?”

“You said Yoon Jeonghan was dead,” Seungcheol reaches for Jeonghan’s soda and takes a swig. Jeonghan doesn’t stop him.”But I’d like to keep you around, so you’ll have to be someone else from now on.”

Jeonghan flips open the passport, stares down at the picture Seungcheol had taken of him almost two weeks ago. Seungcheol hadn’t told him what he needed it for, but in retrospect it was incredibly obvious. There is a new name printed down as well, along with a new birthday and birthplace.

“Hani.” He tries his new name out, the way it feels on his tongue. It’s different, a little foreign. He can’t decide if he likes it.

“Something wrong with it?”

“It sounds like a girl’s name.”

“I didn’t want to choose anything too different from your real name,” Seungcheol explains.”Surely you’ve been called Hani before.”

Jeonghan shrugs. Seungcheol was right, after all.

“Thank you.” He throws Seungcheol a smile and revels in the grin he gets back.

“No problem, angel,” Seungcheol chuckles, reaching over the table to tap Jeonghan gently under his chin. Jeonghan scrunches his nose, all for show.”You done eating?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, tucking the documents back into the brown envelope carefully.”You should get something, Mrs Kim’s food is amazing.”

“I’ll get some to go.” Jeonghan watches as Seungcheol slips off the chair, moves eager. Once standing, he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it up triumphantly. Car keys.”We’ve got a new ride to try out.”

Takeaway bags in hand and cheeks lovingly kissed farewell by Mrs Kim, they make it outside just as the sun has started setting. Seungcheol leads him to a car with a hand on his back, and it isn’t until he removes it that Jeonghan can think clearly again. He turns from the open car door in front of him. 

“What will happen to it?” In the dusk light, the rust spots on the old car look almost beautiful. It had been close to new the first time Jeonghan sat in it. Well-maintained and loved. It felt metaphoric; the way it had suffered more and more neglect as the years passed. At his loneliest, Jeonghan had convinced himself that the old, beat up car was his only ally in the world. It wasn't far off the truth.

“Mr Kim’ll probably strip it for parts,” Seungcheol says in a soft voice. A few weeks ago, asking a question would have earned him a slap across the face. Before Seungcheol, Jeonghan couldn’t recall when he was last spoken to gently.”And then take it to the landfill.”

He allows himself a few seconds to remember. Things had been good, once. Or, at least, they’d seemed good. There was a time when Jeonghan would have sworn he’d met the love of his life. Now, there was nothing. Nothing but rotting flesh and rusty paint.

“You okay, angel?”

Except that wasn’t completely true. There was Seungcheol. And there was Hani.

He turns around. Smiles.

“Never been better.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading and happy new year!!
> 
> find me on twitter [@jeonghannieya](https://twitter.com/jeonghannieya)


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